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User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 40
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Forty "You'll simply have to trust me." Minerva McGonagall was happy. She didn't normally think about happiness or whether she possessed it, except in times of extremity, but now, as she was putting things into her small carpetbag, she realised that the past few weeks had been among the happiest she had spent since childhood. Her classes were going well. Gawain Robards seemed to have sorted whatever was affecting his work and was back on track to excel in his Transfiguration N.E.W.T., and Catherine Belby was improving, although maybe not quite enough to pass the difficult exam. The general quality of the students' essays had improved markedly, which gave Minerva greater confidence in her teaching abilities and made an evening's marking much pleasanter work. Her grandmother's health had improved, and her seven-month-old niece, Morrigan, had begun to show signs of magic. (Not that anyone had really been worried, but a magical family always heaved a sigh of relief the first time a baby moved a favourite toy or upset a dish of mashed peas without touching it.) And of course, there was Albus. They spent Saturday evenings together, playing chess and making love—a fine combination of pleasures, in Minerva's book—and sometimes were able to spend an hour or two together in the afternoon after her Saturday tutoring sessions; she would take a stack of papers to his office, and if he was there, she'd sit by his fire marking them as he worked at his desk. He seemed to have relaxed a bit since the unorthodox reigniting of their affair. Enough, anyway, to ask her to spend the two days he would take off during the upcoming Easter holidays with him. Someplace away from Hogwarts, he had said, although he wouldn't tell her where they were going. She hoped it wasn't Godric's Hollow. The afternoon they had spent in the Dumbledore cottage two Sundays ago had been pleasant—more than pleasant—and she had been happy to have someplace to be alone with Albus, but she wasn't at ease there. There was the uncomfortable memory of meeting Aberforth Dumbledore and the words that had passed between them, and now she couldn't help thinking of the terrible things that had happened to Albus and his family in the house. She didn't know how he could stand being there. Anyway, she doubted he would bring her there again for a romantic tryst. They had only gone there that first time years ago because they certainly couldn't have checked into a hotel—even a Muggle one—without raising eyebrows. She looked less like his granddaughter now, and he hadn't aged perceptibly. She wondered idly if she would always age faster than he did. It was highly likely, she thought. The aging process in wizards and witches seemed to be tied to magical power, although nobody had yet figured out just how. Everyone seemed to grow and mature at about the same rate in childhood and adolescence, but at some point in young adulthood—at around the age Minerva was now, in fact—things seemed to change. The most powerful mages seemed to grow older according to a clock that slowed exponentially as they got older, and that had certainly been true for Albus, she thought. With the exception of a slightly longer beard and hair, streaked with a bit more grey, at seventy-five, he looked much the same as he had at sixty-three, which was to say, he looked as Muggles and many wizards did when they were in their fifties. Not that it mattered much. He was not a conventionally handsome man, but to her, he was beautiful. He was tall and broad of shoulder, much like her father—and she didn't care to examine that fact too closely—although Thorfinn McGonagall was somewhat thicker-set and shorter of beard. She had never found long beards or locks especially attractive, except on Albus. Her other lovers had all been clean-shaven with short-trimmed hair, and she wondered now if there had been a reason for that. She smiled at her thoughts. Yes, she was happy. She was in love with a man who loved her, and the whole world was in front of them. It didn't matter to her that they still had to hide their relationship; in truth, she found that a bonus. She'd never liked everyone knowing her personal business, and the fact she and Albus didn't—couldn't—spend every free moment together was fine with her. She had found that being the sole focus of anyone's attention for extended periods wore on her dreadfully, which was one reason things hadn't worked out with Doug McLaggen—the other being, of course, that she didn't truly love him—and why things had worked out for so long with Alastor. A weekend alone with Albus, though, that was different. She snapped her bag shut and placed it on the trunk at the end of her bed. When she went downstairs, Charity was just laying the table for their dinner. "A bit of salmon tonight," Charity said. "I hope that suits." "It does, thank you. I wish you'd let me help with the meals, though." "Oh, no. You pay me for room and board, and room and board I aim to provide. Besides, I enjoy cooking. It's nice to have someone to do it for again. Unless you like to cook yourself?" "No," said Minerva, laughing. "To tell you the truth, I'm rather a disaster in the kitchen. When I was living in Oxford, most nights I'd just heat up an egg and some toast, which is about the best I can manage." "Well, it's no wonder you're so slim. I told Albus when you came to me I was going to fatten you by a stone, and I mean to do it." When they had eaten, Minerva helped clear away the dishes and applied the drying charms after Charity had washed them by hand. After they finished, Charity said, "I'm going to go up now; I'm exhausted. I was up half of last night marking those bloody exams. If I don't see you in the morning, I hope you and your mysterious young man have a wonderful weekend." "Thank you. And I hope you enjoy Charles's visit. I'm sorry I won't have the chance to meet him. He sounds lovely." "That he is, that he is," said Charity. "Goodnight, Minerva." "Goodnight, Charity." ~oOo~ Albus Dumbledore was happy. He knew he shouldn't be. The attack on Alastor Moody and the terrible injury the young man had sustained should have precluded it. His concerns about Riddle and his followers should have been his primary concern, and if they weren't, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, ranking member of the Wizengamot, and voting Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards should have had plenty of other problems contending for the honour. But he was happy. Seeing Minerva every day—even if it was just in the corridors or at lunch in the Great Hall—kept him from brooding on his worries, much as it had during the war, at least until he had no longer been able to put them aside. But this time, he reflected, there was no reckoning to come. Minerva knew the worst of him and hadn't turned away. And if he could keep an eye on Riddle without having to become directly involved—at least not yet—perhaps he and Minerva could be together without putting her in harm's way. The afternoon they had recently spent away from the school at Godric's Hollow had been the best few hours he had enjoyed in a long, long time. Alone with Minerva, with no distractions, no feeling that they were sequestered in his rooms or that they might be interrupted at any moment by a school crisis—it had been as free as he could recall feeling since his boyhood. He remembered the weekend they had spent there during their first affair, and it had given him the idea that they might go away together for a few days during the upcoming Easter holidays. They couldn't go across the Channel; there was too much risk that they wouldn't be able to get back quickly should he need to. But they could, he thought, find someplace secluded and romantic, where they could just be Albus and Minerva for a little while. A Muggle place, he decided. That way, they could be a couple without undue risk of discovery by anyone who knew them. He thought she would be quite comfortable spending a little time in the Muggle world, given the years she had spent living in London and Oxford, as well as the travels she had told him about. Witches and wizards who lived in larger cities or even suburbs tended to be more comfortable moving in the non-Magical world than did their rural counterparts, because they had to do it on a daily basis. Yes, he thought, a small Muggle hotel. Somewhere pretty and relatively remote. Minerva wasn't fussy about food, nor did she seem to require the pampering that some witches wanted when they were on holiday. She enjoyed the same kinds of relatively quiet pursuits that he did: reading, walking, chess, lively talk. He settled on a small country house hotel on Staffin Bay in the Isle of Skye. His parents had taken Aberforth and him to the island when they were small, and Albus had never forgotten the spectacular Quiraing landslip. He was eager to see it again and to share it with Minerva. They could Apparate to Portree, then the hotel carriage would pick them up for the short drive to Staffin. They could walk the hills, and if they were feeling adventurous, climb a bit as well. There was boating in the bay, and fishing, if she were game for it. The inn had what sounded like a decent restaurant, so they wouldn't have to worry about meals. It was off-season, and he had his pick of rooms. He selected one with view of the bay. It had an en-suite bath and a fireplace, so if the weather were inclement, they could choose to stay in the room and ... read. Minerva was delighted at the suggestion they spend a weekend away, but Albus quickly discovered that she wasn't especially keen on surprises. "You'll just have to wait and see, my love," he said the third time she tried to wheedle their destination out of him. "If I don't know where we're going," she asked, "how will I know what to wear? What to bring?" "Bring warm, comfortable clothes and good walking shoes. But you needn't bother with a nightdress. I promise to keep you sufficiently warm in bed," he said, putting his arms around her waist, pulling her to him, and kissing her neck. "Albus," she admonished with a nervous glance at the staffroom door. "Quite right, quite right," he said with a grin, releasing her. "You might also want to bring your broom. If the weather permits, there should be some lovely flying." "I'd like that. Not least because I've never seen you on a broom." "I don't fly often," he admitted. "I was never very good at it, but if you promise not to go too fast or too high, I imagine I'll keep up." "So we must be going somewhere where there aren't many Muggles." "Now, now, Minerva. No fair trying to guess. You'll just have to wait and see." "Hmpf." "You'll like it, I promise." "Oh, I'm not worried about that, Albus. But you know me: I like to be prepared for things." "Well, there isn't much to prepare for our little holiday. I've made all the arrangements. Just pack a bag with a few clothes and be ready to leave first thing Saturday morning. Beyond that," he said, "you'll simply have to trust me." "I do, Albus. I do." ← Back to Chapter 39 On to Chapter 41→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium